If We Make it Through the Night
by Broken Locket
Summary: SPOILER ALERT! Cutting off ties was simple enough. As for whether they would be reattached depends on whether they make it through the night.
1. 1: Magnus: Cutting Ties

**IF WE MAKE IT THROUGH THE NIGHT  
**

**Rating:** K+

**Authoress:** Loki

**Notes: **So... a lot of things happened in CoLS but I am not going to say what because **WARNING! THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM WORD 1 - IF YOU HAVE NOT YET FINISHED COLS DO NOT READ THIS! TURN AWAY RIGHT NOW!**

For this reason I am writing additional notes at the bottom of this ~ Also preserves spoilers for the fic too.

_Italics: Quotes from Cassandra's work_  
Normal: Fiction~

Please review! I am a review whore! AND PROUD!

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything but the plot.

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**CHAPTER 1: CUTTING TIES**_  
_

_"I'll be out all day," Magnus said. "Come and get your things out of the apartment. Leave your key on the dining room table." His eyes searched Alec's face. "It's over. I don't want to see you again, Alec. Or any of your friends. I'm tired of being their pet warlock."_

Magnus swung open the door to his apartment and felt himself almost hesitate to step inside. He wasn't sure what to expect. Part of him expected to hear the hiss of the shower or the fresh scent of sandalwood blowing out from the bathroom door in clouds of steam. A little of him expected muddy footprints trodden into the wooden floorboards, dotted here and there with splatters of demon ichor. A little more of him expected a smoking crater from a vengeful demon or sibling of a certain Shadowhunter, and there was a tiny fraction of himself that was expecting bright blue eyes framed with ink black hair that was damp from the snow that had been falling since that afternoon. But most of him didn't expect to see anything at all.

If he knew Alexander Lightwood well enough, he knew that he wouldn't take too long to abide by Magnus' wishes.

He had left returning to his apartment as late as he could; finding various Downworlder haunts to just sit in when his errands hadn't proved a long enough diversion for him to stay away from his apartment, letting the scents of smoke and alcohol breeze over him as he tried to calm himself. Stop himself from breaking down. He wondered whether admitting that was more trouble than it was worth.

He closed the door and flicked his slim fingers over the lock, hearing latch snap viciously. His gold-green cat-like eyes glanced around his apartment swiftly and came to rest, almost involuntarily, on a small silver key winking at him on the polished surface of his dining room table. He stepped over to it almost hesitantly and felt a sting twist in his chest.

The tiny key reflected light like a blade and subconsciously Magnus raised a hand to the left of his chest and rubbed it slowly. Brown hair tangled with blood and dirt flashed behind his eyes with dark, black tunnels in the middle of a pale face flushed with energy and what must have been delight as the woman - Amatis, Luke's sister - brandished the knife and sank it into his chest. The area twinged and he grimaced softly.

The wound area didn't hurt any more, he had healed it and traces of the incident were lost to the eyes, but his memory surfaced and brought it out like a persistent worrying at an old tooth that wouldn't just fall out and be gotten rid of. It wasn't like Magnus hadn't been stabbed before. He was over eight hundred years old, of course he had been stabbed before and he had been in battles before - the Uprising being just one example in the recent past.

But it unnerved him that he had been so close to dying. Just a few inches. That was all it would have taken. Had Amatis stumbled or swung the knife at a different angle, then perhaps he wouldn't be here to remember it. He'd be just another body to be burned and slowly forgotten. He was just a warlock after all. No matter what status he found himself. Brooklyn could easily find another High Warlock.

He passed his hand over the key, his chipped nail polish flashing silver in the light, then dropped it. He gave the key a lingering gaze before stepping out of his shoes and padding barefooted into his bedroom. He lay down on the canary yellow sheets and draped a golden arm over his eyes. His skin was cold and damp from the snowfall and his eyelashes were coated with melted snowflakes. He wasn't just cold on the outside though. He felt a chill run through him, the lone key now flickering behind his eyelids.

He saw a hand closing around it and swinging it up above a dark head in an arc like a knife. It plunged back down and before he opened his eyes a flash of bottle-glass-blue shot out from the black head. Magnus made a low sound in his throat and sat up, blinking at the soft sheets thrown over his bed.

Chairman Meow mewled softly from the door and Magnus sighed, scratching the leg of his pants to beckon the cat forward. The cat scampered over to him and the Warlock stroked his back. The tabby purred loudly and arched his back to match Magnus' strokes.

"At least one person isn't going to betray me.." he murmured softly, stroking the Chairman and scratching behind his ears. He shook his head, scooping the cat up and lying back onto his bed with Meow perched on his chest. He continued to stroke him gently, mildly amused at the bliss the cat was clearly showing; leaning into Magnus' hand and narrowing his green eyes, purring like a motor. He sighed.

"All for a Shadowhunter... I knew I was right to try to promise myself I wouldn't get involved with them again..." As if in reply, Chairman Meow gave a soft sound and nudged his master's nose with his own tiny pink one. "I told you, didn't I." Magnus continued, poking the cat's nose. "I said to you I wouldn't... no matter how charming... or how helpless..." He found the cat staring at him and pouted softly. "What?" he asked incredulously. Meow simple mewled and laid down on Magnus' flat chest. The Warlock chuckled briefly, earning several claws in the chest and shook his head. "Yeah, you're right I never finished promising."

Shadowhunters. After Will and Jem he had promised himself that he wouldn't get involved with them again. More importantly their personal business. _Because when you got to know them, you got to care about them. And when you got to care about mortals, they broke your heart._

It was almost ironic that they should be the ones to get him killed if he helped them and the battle had just about proved him right. It was a vital hit that he had needed though. That last push it took just to make himself absolutely clear that Camille had been telling the truth about Alec: That he had been planning to strip his immortality. To his dismay, the vampire lady had been right. That had been the final cut of the thread that was tying him to Brooklyn. The final push that had sent him over the edge. Alec was officially a threat to his life and he had no plans to stick around waiting for that to happen. So he broke up.

The only reason he was staying in Brooklyn - in contact with the Nephilim at all was Alec. Now he was just tired of it all. He'd told Simon this on a whim, and even at that point he had been doubting his reasoning because of what Camille had told him. Now he was going to live up to that and run away before it was too late.

He knew the darkness was coming. It was clear to all Downworlders that it was - they could all sense it and Magnus had dreamt about it countless times. Blood. Lots of it. Darkness. It was coming. He knew it like he knew the how good glitter made him look but the Nephilim seemed either oblivious or ignorant, it was difficult to say. But it was this very reason that had determined his leaving and was why he had spent all day severing his ties with his regular customers; telling them he was going out of town for a while and not specifying where he was going. Only one thing he assured was that he wouldn't be back for a long time. Nobody knew where he was really going and he preferred it that way.

He had intended to do the same with the Nephilim - possibly with Maryse in private as he guessed that she would be most likely to understand the meaning of 'I'm not going to help you anymore'. But he had really struggled with the thought of visiting the Institute again. He didn't want to run into certain people and perhaps talking to the mother of these certain people wasn't the best way of going unnoticed, so he thought that he would simply slip away in the hopes that they would get the message. He figured that Alec would tell them about their break-up soon enough or at least once they realized that Magnus wasn't going to reply to them. He doubted that it would take them long to begin calling him for some petty little thing.

He sighed heavily and pulled Chairman Meow up to his face, despite the cat's discomfort with the action, and nuzzled his face with his forehead. "It's just you and me again, Chairman." He grinned lightly at the cat and sat up, placing him on the floor. "We'd better start packing though.. if we want to get a head start... no doubt they'll start calling within the hour." Meow simply mewled in agreement and stalked from the room.

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**Word Count: **1547

**A/N: **So.. I kinda have two theories about what will happen with Magnus in CoHF... He's either going to flee, like he implied he would when he told Simon about his reason for staying being Alec, or he'll stay because he's hung up on Alec. Even if it doesn't happen, this I thought would be fun to write about so~  
Here's my interpretation~! Haha

**Teaser for a future chapter:**

_"Then why are you here?"_  
_"To tell them what I just told you." Magnus pushed a stray hair behind his ear._  
_"You couldn't have just ignored them?" Alec snapped, spitefully. Magnus laid his cat-eyes wearily on the black haired Nephilim._  
_"Don't play games with me, Alexander."_

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!

Love Loki xxx


	2. 2: Alec: Empty Inside

**IF WE MAKE IT THROUGH THE NIGHT  
**

**Rating:** K+

**Authoress:** Loki

**Notes: **Just wanted to express mt wholehearted thanks to everyone who reviewed/favourited/alerted this story. I have never seen so many alerts in my e-mail inbox! It made me so so happy, I can't tell you how amazing I felt after seeing that! I also want to express my utmost thanks to my dear BETA Dem~ Dunno what I'd do without youuuu! So without further ado, I hope you enjoy chapter 2!**  
**

_Italics: Quotes from Cassandra's work_  
Normal: Fiction~

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything but the plot.

* * *

**CHAPTER 2: EMPTY INSIDE  
**

_He was going to kill Camille - anything to distract him from that image of Magnus walking away"_

Alec dropped his weapons belt down onto the cool metal of the table settled in the centre of the Weapons Room, sighing as it made several satisfying clunks and chinks as the various blades hanging from it collided with the cool table top. He reached up to his shoulder and quickly unfastened the thick silver buckle on the strap to his quiver then placed it down onto the table beside the belt. The remaining arrows inside it rattled and slid out onto the table, revealing their sleek black shafts. He watched them shaking his head and pushed them back inside before raking a dirty hand through his windswept hair. He grimaced lightly at the feel of it. It was stringy and matted - full of blood, dirt and demon ichor and not to mention sticking to his scalp and the back of his neck with sweat.

He was in desperate need of a shower. A long and hot one at that. He stepped briskly out of the Weapons Room and glided up the stairs to his bedroom where he closed the door, locked it and proceeded to yank off his mud-caked boots. He was just so dirty it made him grimace and wonder how Isabelle always managed to come away from a fight with perfect hair and make-up: a smudge of ichor on her arm and nought else to tell that she had been in a fight. _"I'm pure at heart. It repels the dirt."_ She always says.

He left his boots by the door and peeled off his sticky, sweaty gear then discarded it in a pile at the end of his bed before trailing over to the en-suite bathroom in his boxer shorts. He switched on the shower and took a glance at himself in the mirror above the sink.

He almost didn't recognise himself. His eyes were a deep midnight blue, like the sky at twilight, and they were set into a face that had hardened and become much more serious and strained over the past week. Days old stubble was growing along his chin and under his nose and that too was dirty. Heavy dark circles sank themselves deep into his skin and the layer of dirt from his most recent outing only served to make them look darker. Blood and demon ichor streaked across his cheeks and a long dribble of darkened dried blood had made its way down his chest. His marks stood out on the pale skin of his chest where the mud hadn't been caked on and pale red indentations stood out along his arms, shoulders and legs where the straps of his weapon belts had dug into his skin. He looked older, he thought, like his father. He shook his head and stripped his lower body of his undergarments then stepped under the hot spray of the shower.

He sighed and felt his body relax; deflating the tension in his muscles and back. He stood for a moment underneath the steam and water before grabbing the bottle of shampoo on a small shelf attached to the shower wall. His eyes shut to protect them from the water; his hands ran on automatic. They flicked the container's cap open and poured a good handful of the cool gel onto his palm then flicked it shut; pressing it against the wall to make sure it was closed fully, and dropped it onto the floor. He quickly started to rub the stuff into his hair and under the steam it blossomed into thick white bubbles with the heavy scent of sandalwood.

He stopped and dropped his hands, sighing.

He opened his eyes and rubbed soap suds from them then looked down at the bottle. He had asked Isabelle to stop buying that for him and to find a more subtle smell for him instead, but she must have forgotten this week. The aroma floated around him in the clouds of steam and curled up and around his hands. He saw the flavoured suds from his hair running down his body in rivulets and closed his eyes again, tipping his head back and plunging them into the cascading water. He rinsed out the suds and dirt and washed his body thoroughly with a regular bar of plain scentless soap before stepping out and towelling himself dry. He wrapped the towel around his waist, quickly brushed his teeth and shaved off the stubble.

When he was finished he padded into his bedroom and picked up a set of old holey, faded jeans and pulled them on. He attacked his hair with the towel then threw it onto a chair and lay down on his bed with another heavy sigh.

The shower had been needed but in the end he wished he hadn't. Sandalwood. Who would have thought that the smallest little thing could bring back memories so vivid that it could have brought tears to his eyes? He refused though - refused to cry. He had been refusing ever since the incident in the alley.

He had found it easiest to keep himself busy and to keep his mind occupied with another strong thought. For the past week he had been doing that and had surprised both Jace and Izzy when he had accepted every single call to demonic suspicion in the area. He had even been going on his own when Izzy hadn't been around to help him. Jace had been banned from such physical activity for a while now on the grounds that he was still recovering.

He was even surpassing Jace in some grounds. The reason for that was simple though. He was doing everything he could to concentrate entirely on the battles.

That very night a huge, grotesque Behemoth Demon had fallen victim to Alec's attempt to forget the sparkling cloud of yellow-green eyes that floated through both his conscious and unconscious mind. It had taken a very long time, but he had done it eventually. Breaking down the demon had taken skill, strength and stamina and not to mention the very utmost attention and concentration. He hadn't been able to use a seraph blade during the encounter, so he had relished the chance to use his more effective bow and arrows and his feather staff.

When the demon had been reduced to a puddle of oozing green slime, Alec's muscles had been tempted to do the same but he had dragged himself home with the much greater temptation of a warm shower.

Now he just needed to sleep. His body begged for it, as did his head with a pounding headache, but sleep simply refused to come.

Instead the sensation of curling up beside a warm, slim, glittery body flooded over him and he almost found himself rolling over to attempt to do so. He set his jaw and gripped his fists instead; willing himself to lie flat on his back.

There was nothing in his bed to roll over for after all.

He sighed and firmly closed his eyes, chanting softly to himself, "Sleep. Go to sleep Alec. Sleep." Over and over, but as soon as he felt relaxed enough to actually fall into a doze, he would catch the scent of sandalwood creeping up off his chest and once again that magnificent face would fade into the back of his mind like an infection.

He finally gave up.

He sat up and got out of bed.

On his way out of the room he picked up a simple t-shirt and yanked it over his head as he padded through the institute's silent corridors toward the training room, his eyes black in the dark and reflecting glints of silver from the witchlight that flickered from their posts on the walls.

He pushed open the door of the training room and went straight over to the simple old punching bag hanging dismally in the corner. He gripped a fist and sank it deep into the bag. A puff of sand and dust exploded from the top and it swung away from him. He waited for it to return then punched it again. Then again. He pummelled the bag, gritting his teeth and turning his face red with the effort.

It wouldn't work. Every punch brought back images more fluid and vibrant than the last. He needed noise, strategy, to think. Then he would be distracted.

Voices began to appear in his mind. The mocking purr of Magnus' voice and the hoarse kind he used during and after intimate moments. He couldn't take it. His hand went through the bag with a fierce roar escaping Alec's mouth. He didn't stop.

Sand poured out of the bag and the ripped material flapped and smacked other pieces, making a bizarre sound, but it was what he wanted. It was noise. He felt sweat drip from his nose and was hit with another wave of memories even more intimate than before and it sent him over the edge.

He punched the bag with such force it snapped off the chain and hit the wall, splitting open and spilling its contents out onto the hardwood floor. He stood tense, watching it as he panted heavily. His hands quivered at his sides and he could feel his hair sticking to his neck and forehead.

"Whatever the punch bag said to you, I want to know so you won't do that to me." Alec dropped his head, his shoulders losing a fraction of the tension.

"Jace, what are you doing here?" he asked between pants. Said blonde boy walked slowly over to him. A slight limp was visible in his step, but only to those that knew how he walked normally; otherwise it just made him slightly more vulnerable in appearance. "You're not supposed to be awake at this time."

"You were the one that woke me up. It sounded like a bunch of demons had got in." he said, folding his arms and looking over at Alec. The older boy's cheek bones tinted red.

"Guess I got carried away. I'm going now. Up to bed, you should get back to bed too."

"Not until you tell me what's happened between you and Magnus." Alec's head shot to him and he looked at him with wide eyes. Jace's lips curved softly into a smirk "Don't look at me like that. It's obvious. Magnus hasn't been answering any calls from the clave for the past week and you've been sneaking off by yourself every night, returning like you've spent the night rolling in the mud with a Drevak demon. Now I know that you and Magnus aren't into that sort of stuff, so tell me what's happened." He leaned back against the wall behind him, next to the deflated punch bag.

Alec's eyes softened slightly and his shoulders lost their tension as he sat down on the floor. He looped his arms around his knees and looked over at the pile of sand. "We... broke up a week ago," he told him softly, "because we can't trust each other... we don't tell each other anything anymore." Jace's expression fell and he slowly squatted to Alec's height.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked.

"I didn't want reminding. I... guess I just wanted to forget him as soon as possible and return to normal."

"But you can't." Alec shook his head.

"Everything brings him back. If I'm not focused on something else I just... lose it..." he looked at Jace and a lopsided smirk briefly touched his lips, "take it out on punching bags."

Jace laughed. It wasn't hollow or scornful; it was warm and to Alec it was reassuring and it filled his heart with a comforting gesture. He couldn't help but smile at Jace and felt something tickle his cheek. He reached up and wiped it, his hand coming away wet. Damnit. He hadn't wanted to cry. But they wouldn't stop now, no matter how hard he rubbed his eyes. He saw Jace shaking his head and for a second he thought that Jace would think he was pathetic for crying like he was.

Instead his brother came over and hugged him tightly. Alec relaxed into it and closed his eyes, hugging him back.

"If you ever need to talk, just come and ask Alec. I'm there for you." he said calmly. Alec nodded.

"Thanks Jace."

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**Word Count:** 2077

******To Reviewers without an account:**

******bridgette:** Thanks a lot, I hate it too XP Here's your update~

**Theresa: **Aw I'm so glad you thought it was in character! I hope you think the same here, Alec is hard to write!

**mortalhearts:** Thank you so much!

Please review again! I am a review whore! AND PROUD! Honestly! It encourages me to continue so much!

Love Loki xxx


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